All of the Stars
by JamesLuver
Summary: John Bates has always looked to the stars. Cover image by annambates.


A/N: Happy Birthday, annambates! I hope you have a wonderful day, and thank you for always being such a source of encouragement for the fandom!

This fic was inspired by the following prompt on OTP Prompts over on Tumblr: _Imagine your OTP is on a stargazing date. Person A and Person B of your OTP are lying on a grassy field and looking up at the sky. Person A of your OTP stares at the constellations and remarks, "Wow, I've never seen anything so beautiful in my whole life." Person B looks at Person A and comments, "Neither have I."_

The M-rating is a pretty soft one, as the sex isn't at all graphic, IMO. Heads up for descriptions of war and drinking, too. I have taken liberties with John's past, but I guess anything is possible until we know more (hint, hint, Fellowes, give us a book chronicling the lives of the characters before the start of the series. It's much more desirable than a movie!).

Disclaimer: I don't own _Downton Abbey_.

* * *

 _All of the Stars_

John knelt on his bed, elbows propped on his windowsill, peering in vain up at the stars. The thick smog of London hung heavily in the air like low clouds, attempting to smother out the night sky overhead.

He didn't like it here. He didn't like the strange smells, he didn't like the strange sounds, he didn't like the strange faces. He was not unaccustomed to adapting to new places, but it was different this time.

Because this time, Father wouldn't be joining them. He had never much cared for him, not really, because when he was around there were always sharp words and sharper slaps, but there was something so final about it now. And as much as he had feared and loathed his father at times, he had loved him too, had desperately desired his approval. To have his father tell him that he was proud of him…there could be no higher honour. But it was never going to happen now. Mother had said that they weren't going to live with him anymore, and that was exactly what would happen. Her fearlessness must come from her Irish heritage, because he didn't think anyone else would have the daring to do what she had done.

Which had been to take them all the way to England's capital and declared that they were going to make their own way. Mother had always been a skilled seamstress, the best there was, and John knew that she would never let him go without. He'd offered to give up school to help her—he wasn't sure that he wanted to go anymore, anyway, being the new boy to be stared at and jeered at all over again—but she had only chuckled and ruffled his hair.

"There's plenty of time for all that," she'd said.

"But I can be the man of the house," he'd protested.

"You've no right to be a man, not yet. I want you to be a little boy. You'll make me happier that way, Johnny. You're already wise beyond your years."

No amount of pouting and protesting had changed her mind, so here he was, on this cramped little bed in a foreign city. They would not be stopping here long, Mother had promised him, just long enough for her to procure some work and get some funds. They would have a proper house then. A home. John doubted anywhere would ever really feel like home here.

The door opened behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder to find Mother entering the room. She smiled when she saw him.

"Get into your night things, lad," she said. "We've a long day ahead of us tomorrow, and you should already be sleeping."

"Can't," he complained, but he wouldn't say more than that. He didn't want to disappoint her with his troubles.

She only smiled again. "How about I help you, hmm?"

He didn't need her help getting dressed anymore, but there was something very comforting about the offer. Would it make him seem like a big baby if he accepted? At that moment, he didn't care. He just wanted everything to be back to how it had been before, when everything had been comfortably familiar. He nodded slightly now and slid off the bed, padding over to her side. All of their worldly belongings were in two cases at the bedside. It made him sad to see.

Smiling slightly, Mother delved into one of them and brought out a pair of pyjamas. "Here we are."

They worked together in silence, and when John was securely in them, she passed her fingers through his hair.

"Go'n clean those teeth," she said. "The bathroom's just down the hall. I'll get changed while you do."

He nodded dutifully, collected his toothbrush, and headed out. When he returned, Mother was dressed for bed too. She'd pulled the covers back for him to clamber in, and he did so. She tucked him in tight and kissed his forehead.

"Sleep well, love," she said. "I'm just here if you need me, all right?"

John nodded and rolled onto his side. He heard Mother scuffling around in the background, then the groan of the bedsprings as she settled in the other bed that had been squashed into the room. He tried to look up at the stars through the window, but Mother had drawn the curtains.

They wouldn't bring him any comfort, anyway.

* * *

John trudged down the street, bringing a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it up. There was an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he forced it down. He hated to argue with his mother, not after everything she had done for him, but she was tiresome in this matter. Really, who he chose to spend his time with was none of her concern. He had been stepping out with Vera for long enough now that she ought to know that he wasn't simply going to drop her just because she said so. While he wished that Mother liked her a little more, he wasn't going to let her govern his life. He wasn't a child any longer.

"She doesn't like me because mothers never like girls who take their little boys away," Vera had said, her voice low and husky, the tone that aroused him within moments. She'd walked her fingers down his chest, coming to a rest at his groin, making him quiver.

John knew that there were reasons beside that. Vera could be opportunistic and even cruel, but when she wrapped her naked body around his, he forgot about all of that.

Besides, there were many, many other things about Vera which were attractive. She had an enticing sense of self-entitlement, a challenging stare that gave her the impression of great confidence. She never minced her words. If she wanted something, she went out and got it. She had a wicked sense of humour. She knew what she wanted. She didn't care about the restrictions of society. In a world where everything was the same, it was a refreshing attitude to come across, freeing him in turn. Most other girls would never dream of letting him kiss them the way Vera did, never mind the things that Vera let him do to her…

His fantasies carried him through the thick of the main town, until he came upon the park where they had agreed to meet. It was quiet here, and they were unlikely to be seen. He shivered in the cold, thinking longingly of a warm bed. If Vera's father was out tonight, drinking himself into the gutter, then they would be safe to spend the night at hers. If not, they would have to find a seedy little hotel room where the owners wouldn't ask too many questions, making up for the poor hygiene. In London, thank God, there were no shortages of those.

His musings were interrupted by a rustling in the grass, of long skirts snaking over the surface. He straightened up and peered through the darkness. His hopes were confirmed. There she was. Vera. His heart leapt at the sight of her.

His feet carried him across the space between them, and he was kissing her before he'd even greeted her, his hands moving low over her hips, lower, thrilling when she didn't stop him. Eventually, however, she pulled away, those piercing blue eyes pinning him in place.

"Johnny, we need to talk," she said.

He didn't like her calling him that. That was reserved for his mother alone, as far as he was concerned, for it made him sound like a little boy and he didn't like the thought of Vera thinking of him so. Still, it was better than Batesy, which was her usual choice.

"All right," he said. He was wary of those words. The men he worked with had always told him that it meant a woman was regretting something. Not that Vera had ever appeared to be the kind of girl to regret something. She was as wild as the Devil, lived every moment with exciting abandon, seemed to think that any second living within the confines of society was a wasted one.

What could be wrong?

"Let's sit down," he suggested, finding his voice and his manners. There was a bench just behind them, swallowed in the darkness, and this seemed to be as good a place as any to talk. They would not be disturbed.

Vera nodded and marched past him. He hurried after her, expecting her to fold onto the seat, but she did not, angling her jaw and looking him straight in the face, standing tall and defiant.

"I'm pregnant," she said.

The air around him seemed to thin; he couldn't bring enough oxygen into his lungs. He could only flounder. His legs gave way beneath him, and he collapsed backwards onto the bench.

"W-What?" he croaked. Christ, he was hearing things. They had been laying together for quite some time now and there was no fool proof way to prevent this from happening, but he had always tried to do what he could.

Clearly there had been times when he had slipped up…

"Is it mine?" he found himself blurting, then regretted it immediately when she swung those cold blue eyes on him, her expression stone.

"What are you suggesting?" she said, her accent growing thicker with her fury.

"Nothing," he said hastily. "Just…"

"Been listening to the rumours, have you, Batesy?" she sneered. "Letting them poison your mind like a silly little boy?"

John stiffened. "Don't call me that."

Vera snorted, bringing out a cigarette while he passed a shaking hand over his face. Yes, they were just foul rumours. There was no proof of anything. It was only hearsay that she had been seen with Billy Corner, and she had looked him square in the face and denied it. They had exchanged angry words over it and he had refused to see her for a week, but he had never seen her with anyone else and he had no interest in any of the other dull girls who looked hopefully his way. It had made sense to apologise and take up with her again.

But this…Christ. Christ, he wasn't ready to be a father. He still had so much he wanted to see and do before he was tied down like that. He'd never stopped to think whether he even wanted them in the future. That was part of what had drawn him to Vera. While other girls dreamed of a home and family of their own, Vera was out to get what she could. He'd always known that he could never break her heart, and that was what he'd wanted. Something simple.

It was simple no longer.

God, his mother would _kill_ him.

"How far along are you?" he managed.

She shrugged indifferently. "A couple of months."

"What are we going to do?" he moaned.

Her eyes were still as smooth waters. How was she staying so calm?

"I can't let people know," she said. "Father would disown me if he knew what we've been doing. And he'd kill you. You wouldn't stand a chance against him. I'm not going to let people look down their noses at me and jeer. We've broken the rules but I'm not prepared to be a social outcast on anyone's terms but my own."

"So what are we going to do?" John repeated. His mind was still caught up somewhere with what Vera had said about her father. He'd seen the man around, brutal and heavyset and perpetually red in the face from whiskey, and while John had been in several of his own bar brawls, he didn't fancy taking on anyone out for vengeance on his daughter's honour.

And his mother…

"There are things I can do," said Vera.

"Things?"

She rolled her eyes. "Women have ways. I could make the problem go away. It's unsavoury, of course, but manageable."

Ways to make the problem go away. John blinked up at her, an ice cold fist squeezing his heart. He didn't need that explaining any further. The methods might be mysterious, but what she was hinting was not. Getting rid of the child. Destroying the part of him that now lived inside her. A child. A baby with both of their blood in its veins, half of their hearts making their baby's full one.

His child was in touching distance, and they were talking about it as if it was something ugly and inconvenient to be thrown to one side like rubbish.

It would be so easy to blame Vera for not taking more care, for not being more sensible. John knew that other men in his position would do exactly that. They would turn a blind eye, deny all knowledge and leave her to face the consequences of her folly alone. But he couldn't do that. His mother had raised him alone, and he had a fierce love and appreciation for everything she had done for him. She had raised him to have honour and compassion, and he would not abandon a child of his own flesh when he had experienced it first-hand.

"No," he said. "That's out of the question."

"Then what?"

There was only one other option. He took a deep, shuddering breath. This was the last thing he had wanted this to come to right now, but it was the only path open to him. "Marry me, Vera."

Was that a glint of triumph in her eyes? "Marriage?"

John pushed his foreboding away. "Yes, marriage. It's the only alternative. If we marry quickly, the dates might be tight but no one would dare contradict it. And even if they did, I'd have made an honest woman of you."

"Marriage," Vera said again, as if testing it on her tongue. "Yes, all right. I'll marry you."

John let out a breath. "Good. Then we'll go to the registry office tomorrow and see when they can fix a date. Waiting for the banns to be read is too risky."

"And you can cover the cost?"

"I've been putting aside my wages," he said. He got a reasonable stipend as first footman in a small household. He was tall and handsome, which meant that he made more than poor Samuel did.

"And we'll have money when you join the army," said Vera. "Our living will be comfortable."

Yes, that would be good. He wouldn't be there with them all the time, but at least he could provide for them. His wife and his baby. God, he hadn't expected this before he headed off for training. He had planned to use the time to assess things, to see that it was right for both of them.

But he loved her. Of course he did. He was sure that being away from her would have made him miss her more. He probably would have asked her to marry him before his first deployment anyway. Things were just moving a little quicker than planned, that was all.

And perhaps a baby would help to thaw the ice between his mother and Vera. He wanted them to get along, for his mother to be a support for Vera while he was away.

Vera finally sat down beside him, and he moved to wrap his arm around her shoulder. She looked at him, the stars reflected in her eyes.

"Everything will work out," she said.

They married at the first opportunity, and John secured temporary accommodation above a grubby teashop because Mother refused to have Vera in the house. Vera turned her nose up at the surroundings, and John found his ire growing. What had she expected? That he would be able to treat her like royalty from the beginning? He might have been able to if they'd planned things properly, but they hadn't. She would have to be content with that.

But she wasn't. They argued almost every day in those cramped conditions. She'd expected more, she snarled. She wanted better.

On the eve before his departure for training, they stood beneath the midnight sky and she told him the thing that cut him right down to the pulsing core, where he was just a series of uncontrollable emotions.

"The baby's gone," she said. "I lost it in the night. And you noticed nothing."

A part of him wanted to grab her, to shake her, to yell at her for the indifferent way she spoke about the child they had made together. He wanted to argue with her, to denounce her a liar, for she surely couldn't look so hale and full of life if she had lost a part of her just the previous day.

He wanted to do a good many things. What he did do was turn on his heel and walk away, unable to look at her face for a moment longer.

He did not allow himself to think about her or her words while he completed his training, channelling every ounce of anger and anguish into a bitter purpose. It was only on those final nights that he looked up at the heavens and wondered. How could she have felt so little for their child? What had been her true purpose?

Had she ever been pregnant at all?

The cold glint of the stars seemed to give him the answer he had so desperately wanted to avoid.

* * *

John woke quite suddenly, soaked through with sweat, with an awful, cloying feeling of impending doom. His heart beat fast in his chest, and he took several deep breaths, trying to force down the urge to be sick. He'd had a nightmare, that was all. Out here in Africa, in soils saturated with the blood of so many, it was only natural. Everyone said that the war was drawing to a close but out here, in the middle of it, the fighting sometimes seemed far from over.

Angry at himself for being so stupid, he fought his way out of his blankets and crawled towards the clean air that wafted enticingly from the other side of the oppressive canvas he was sleeping beneath. The anxiety would disappear once he was out in the fresh air, he was sure of it.

He stopped when he met the cool air, turning his face to the bright twinkling stars above. There were so many out here, thousands upon thousands, so many tiny little particles glistening at him from the heavens. Under a sky like that, so peaceful, it was difficult to remember that they were gazing upon a conflict-destroyed land.

"Bates!"

The voice made him jump; he leapt to his feet, clawing fruitlessly for the weapon that was absent from his side. He came face to face with Captain Crawley, whose grinning face was morphing into a mask of concern.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

John liked his superior very much. He was of a similar age to him, and though he had got where he was today because of who his father was and what he would become in the future, he was unlike the others who shared his station. Captain Crawley was hardworking, showed a keen desire to prove that he was worth the mantle he wore. He treated the men around him as humans, men with real needs and emotions and not just inanimate weapons to be trained to self-destruct on command for the greater good.

"I'm fine, thank you, sir," he said.

"Come and join us," said Captain Crawley, patting the ground beside him. "None of us can sleep, either."

John glanced around, realising for the first time that Captain Crawley wasn't alone. Several of the other men from their little party were awake too, sitting hunched over the fire.

They had been sent out alone to scout the vicinity for any Boers, but the hour had grown late and they had been forced to stop in unfamiliar surroundings. It was better to be careful than to crash around like foolhardy heroes seeking credit. There would be plenty of time for that. Still, John wondered if it was entirely sensible to light a fire. The night was colder than expected, but it would not do to alert anyone to their presence. They hadn't found any Boers in the vicinity while on their travels, but that didn't mean that they weren't hiding out of sight, or that they wouldn't be picked up by sympathisers.

A part of him wondered if it really mattered.

Life had not improved since the early months of his marriage, all those years ago. He was older now, and more world-weary than ever. The constant arguments and disengaged sex was not appealing to him anymore. He had grown out of it. All he wanted was a stable family life, a sanctuary to return to, but he was never going to get that with Vera.

So what did it really matter if he didn't return from this?

Vera would not mourn him. She would move on to the next eligible bachelor before his body was cold in the ground. And he…well, he would finally know peace.

Throwing caution to the wind, he flopped down in the dirt. All was silent.

He didn't need words. Words were pointless. He preferred staring into the flames, lost in his own thoughts.

"Bates."

He stirred, blinking, his eyes watering from the heat of the fire. "Sir?"

Captain Crawley had produced a small flask and shook it in his face. It tinkled enticingly.

"Drink," he said needlessly. "Have some, Bates. Take the edge off."

"I won't ask how you did that," said John, taking hold of the skin and loosening the lid.

"There have to be some perks to being an officer other than crawling through shit," said Captain Crawley. Snorting, John took a long sip. The drink hit the back of his throat, in the perfect spot. God, how good that tasted. It had been weeks since he'd tasted anything that was so fine. They had been living off some questionable rations, and this was like the sweetest luxury. Deliciously forbidden.

Not wanting to appear greedy, he passed the skin back, his head already feeling pleasantly fuzzy. He had missed having a drink. It was nice having the edge taken off for a while, to numb the despair that seemed to follow them all around.

Captain Crawley took a huge sip of his own, smacking his lips together in satisfaction before passing it on to one of their comrades. They went back to staring into the flames.

"Strange, isn't it?" Captain Crawley murmured. "Being here like this?"

John sighed internally. He wasn't really one for talking, but his superior seemed to spend most of his time chattering to anyone who would listen. Not that he minded that. Not really. It was endearingly unique, in some respects. And they could have very serious, in depth discussions about a lot of things. The other man had led a sheltered life and didn't know a thing about hardships, and John had taken the decision not to breathe a word of his own wife back home because he wanted to avoid the gossip as far as he could, but he was a comforting presence nevertheless, and clearly adored the family he had left behind in England. John envied that, and the happiness he obviously felt. Captain Crawley had three charming little girls who he was clearly smitten with. He carried a picture of them in his pocket at all times and would brandish it at anyone who sat still long enough. The youngest was just a babe in arms, a stout, sweet little thing that tugged at something inside John. In some respects, it was like staring into a parallel life. That could have been him, with the happy family life, if he hadn't been so immature and hasty with Vera.

"I'm sure it will be over any day now," Captain Crawley said. He had been saying it with increasing confidence over the last few weeks. John suspected that that was right. The war had been bloody and hard, with a lot of casualties on both sides, but it seemed that they were finally winning through. It was something that, bizarrely, he was dreading. Everyone else had perfectly wonderful lives to return to. What did he have? A vicious wife who drank and shot poisoned words at him and pushed his temper to the limit. He didn't want a break from the war. He wanted to go directly to his next posting, to run and never look back.

Running was cowardly, he knew that. But he had an uneasy feeling that nothing good would come of him returning. He couldn't join in with the cheerful chatter of the others. It was as if he was a creature from another world.

"Bates?"

"I'm listening, sir," he said, pulling himself back to the present with great difficulty.

"I've been with you long enough to know when you're not, Bates," Captain Crawley said. "You were miles away. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, sir."

"I wish I could believe you. I wish you could trust me with it. I hope you know that I would never betray a confidence."

"I do." But he still wouldn't understand. How could he, with all his happiness?

"Have another drink," he said, pushing the flagon back into his hands. It probably wasn't wise to do so, but John did it anyway, taking a shaky gulp in the hope that it calmed his nerves. It warmed him instantly.

"Thank you," he said.

Captain Crawley shrugged. "Think nothing of it. We all need a little something now and then." He stared into the flames for a few moments before saying, "Bates, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, sir."

"Is it wrong of me to think that I'll miss the war?"

That took John by surprise. "Sir?"

Captain Crawley sighed, reaching out to poke at the fire with a stick. "Don't mistake me, I cannot wait to be reunited with my wonderful girls. But it will be strange, readjusting to Downton. I'll be expected to slide seamlessly back into my role as master in training, and I know it won't fit, at least not straight away. I'll be leaving adventure behind and returning to monotony. It rather frightens me. And it won't be easy to forget the things I've seen."

"No, sir, it won't. I can understand that completely."

"And what about you, Bates? What does the end of the war entail for you?"

More misery and darkness. "I don't know, sir."

"What did you do before the war?"

It was strange to think that they had been together for so long now and Captain Crawley still didn't know what he'd done before. Then again, he'd rather not think about the past. The future was a yawning black hole. God, he had no idea what to do.

"I was a footman," he said. "Just in a small house in London."

"Well, being a servant is nothing to be ashamed of. I like to pride Downton on having some of the best servants around. Did you want to progress in that field before you joined the army?"

He'd never really thought about it before. "I don't know. Perhaps. But I wanted to serve my country."

"Well, if you ever tire of the army and want to progress in the future, or if you ever fancy a change in surroundings, let me know and I'll see if there's anything I can do to help you."

"Thank you, sir. It's appreciated."

They lapsed back into silence. John took another swig of whiskey and handed it back. The other men had fallen silent, probably warmed by the alcohol and the fire. For once, John could feel his own eyelids drooping. It had been so long since he had last slept properly. He longed for sweet oblivion, to be able to shut his mind off for just a few hours, to be numb to everything. Because that was the problem with war, he'd found. It made him feel too much. Some people were lucky and felt the other way. How he wished he could feel that same disconnect.

And then, out of nowhere, there was a snap.

A twig breaking?

Someone close by?

John jerked upright at once, briefly disorientated by his surroundings, because he must have been on the verge of slipping away without even noticing it.

"What was that?" said Captain Crawley, a vein of fear in his voice.

All around them, men were scrambling to their feet, standing silently. John bent to scuff out the fire, plunging them into darkness. It might already be too late to cover their tracks, but perhaps they could use the darkness to hide away. Spots danced in front of his eyes and he shook his head, trying to clear them, trying to run through an escape route in his mind. His heart was pounding so loudly in his chest that he wasn't even sure if he would be able to hear anything over it.

Very slowly, Captain Crawley edged closer.

"Do you have a weapon on you?" he whispered in his ear.

"No," he breathed back.

"Shit," said Captain Crawley. "What are we going to do?"

God only knew. John just hoped that one of his comrades had brought a gun out with them. Perhaps Private Salisbury had. He seemed to relish nothing more than pulling the trigger, be it on a real person or just as a practice target. John didn't like the man, but right now he would be the only chance they had of causing a diversion. Perhaps he ought to risk trying to crawl back to his tent to retrieve his own revolver…

Another snap.

There was someone out there.

John felt almost dizzy with fear. It was one thing to walk knowingly into battle. Quite another for death to sneak up unexpectedly.

"We can't just keep standing here," Captain Crawley muttered. "We can't die cowering in the shadows. If this is the end, we die fighting."

"What—" John started to say, but he got no further.

With a battle cry, Captain Crawley yelled, "Attack, lads! Get what you can and fight!" He blundered forward and, after a split-second of waiting, the other men in their party followed suit.

There was the sound of gunfire, of screams, that awful _puff_ of a bullet leaving a weapon at deadly speed. There was the dull, sickening sound of a bullet hitting flesh, the bright splash of blood arcing through the air, steaming, sickening.

The enemy had tracked them like dogs.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Later, he wouldn't even be able to remember the details of what had happened beyond flashes, that overpowering sense of fear still ruling all.

Bodies hit the ground with sickening crunches. He slipped on blood—so much blood—as he dived towards the tent. He heard Salisbury swearing and firing shots in return, but then he screamed and his body thumped lifeless, headless, mere feet from where John lay. He couldn't bear to look at him. The bile rose in his throat. But the gun had to be somewhere close by. Suppressing the urge to retch, he felt around him, cringing at the gore, until his hand came into contact with hard metal. He scrambled for it, rising on his knees just enough to squint around at the carnage.

It was a total massacre. A small group of Boers swarmed the vicinity, gutting those who lay there moaning, brandishing burning twigs as they searched for any survivors.

Captain Crawley was still standing, his eyes flashing with defiance.

The sensible thing to do would be to play dead. He hadn't been noticed yet; they could easily pass over him amid all the death and destruction.

But he was Captain Crawley's batman. And he was supposed to serve him. Beyond that, there was a vast difference in their qualities of lives. The young heir had a whole family surrounding him. A devoted wife. Three robust, lovely daughters. A duty to the whole country. He had no brother to pass the mantle of responsibility to.

In contrast, John's own married life was almost worthless. The only person who would mourn his passing was his mother, but she was a sturdy old thing. She would survive without him. If one of them was to die, it was better for it to be him.

He had made his choice.

On his belly, he edged his way closer to his commanding officer, still standing tall. He was surrounded on all sides by the three Boers who had infiltrated their little camp.

"Go on, then," he said, his voice unshakable. "Go on."

One of them men said something in Dutch. John only had a rudimentary understanding of the language, but he knew the implications of the harsh word just fine: Kill. There would be no survivors tonight, no one to deal a trade to the army. The Boers didn't work like that.

He had to act. Now.

Adrenaline coursing through his veins, John staggered to his feet.

"Over here!" he shouted.

It was enough distraction. All four men turned to him at once. He cocked the gun and pulled the trigger. Them or him. No other way.

The nearest man's head exploded. Captain Crawley stirred into life, driving his fist into another's face. John took aim again. Another man down. He wasn't even aware of his feet pounding across the slippery ground, closing the gap between them.

"Bates!" Captain Crawley panted. "God, but am I glad to see you. I thought…" His throat worked.

John's arm was trembling in earnest now. "I know." He couldn't seem to release his talon grip on the gun. "What do we do?"

Captain Crawley closed his eyes. "We must get word to base. They'll send supplies and help. They'll help with…Well, they'll get the bodies back to England."

John wasn't sure if that would be a comfort to the families. Wouldn't it be better to remember them as they were, and not as headless corpses covered in their own innards? His vision swam. He didn't think he could look down. Those men had been his friends in some respects. Brothers. He had trusted every single one with his life, but he hadn't been able to return that. They shouldn't have let their guards down. He'd thought the fire was a bad idea. He should have voiced it. They shouldn't have been drinking.

"Bates, this is not your fault."

He looked up sharply, to see Captain Crawley staring at him, eyes full of weariness and sympathy.

"If it's anyone's, it's mine," he said fiercely. "They were under my charge. I wasn't good enough. I should have been more responsible. It's my fault they're dead." His voice did waver now. "Go and get help. I'll stay with them. It's the least I should do."

"Are you sure?" John asked hoarsely.

"Yes. It's an order, Bates. Go."

" _Nee."_

The harsh, guttural sound came from behind. John span around, half-raising the gun. It was the man that Captain Crawley had hit. His face was covered in blood, probably from a bust nose.

" _Nee,"_ he said again, and lunged.

Caught off-guard, John fell backwards. The gun flew out of his hands. Swearing, he scrambled after it, but the Boer got there first, clawing his way to his feet. John tried to catch his ankle, but he kicked out, connecting with his temple. He felt something in his neck twinge painfully as his head reeled back, his gaze shimmering black for a moment. The Boer scrambled back to his feet, gun cocked in Captain Crawley's direction. His eyes were wide. Now, staring down those yawning barrels, he didn't seem to know what to do.

" _Nee,"_ the Boer said breathlessly, one more time.

For the second time in as many minutes, time seemed to slow down. Everything happened with pinpoint sharpness. John wasn't even aware of stumbling back to his feet. He barely comprehended the surge of adrenaline. All he was focused on was the gun, and what was about to happen.

The Boer began to squeeze the trigger.

With a yell, John leapt forward.

And then there was pain. Raw, white-hot pain that lanced through his right leg, setting it on fire. He hit the ground with a thud. Someone landed on him, and he screamed in pain. Kept on screaming. His screaming was joined by more yells. Another gunshot.

Silence.

Silence apart from his screams. Now he had started, he couldn't seem to stop. The pain was all-consuming. He had never felt anything like it before. His knee throbbed hotly. He was paralysed. Something warm and sickening was seeping through his clothes, saturating them, making them stick.

Someone was above him. Speaking. "Stay with me, Bates. Stay with me."

He tried to say something. Merely gurgled. The figure above him was blurred.

The last thing John saw was the stars above his head, bone-white in that ominous obsidian sky.

* * *

The amber liquid swirled sensually around his glass, seducing him nearer. John was helpless to fight the call. He drained it in one, slamming the glass back down on the grimy bar top.

"'Nother," he grunted.

The barman complied. That was what John liked about this place. There was no one to tell him no. No one to stop him. He could do what the hell he wanted and no one cared. He liked that, no one caring. It made things easier. Guilt was something he never wished to feel again, but his mother's nagging made it almost impossible to forget. Places like this, holding the dregs of society, made it easier. At least for a little while. Until he was forced to go home. Return to the home which usually smelled of other men. The fights that were sure to happen, both with his mother and with Vera. It was enough to drive a man mad. In these drunken moments, he often fantasised about running away. Escaping it all. He was never quite sure why he didn't. Certainly not out of any real love for Vera. They could hardly bear to look at each other now. The only times they interacted were when they were shouting, or when they were fucking. The rest of the time their paths never crossed. They were strangers. Ghosts.

John drained his next glass and banged for another. It was slid across to him without preamble and he downed that one too, relishing the burn in his throat. The sting of cigarette smoke was making his eyes itch now, but he wouldn't be moving from this spot until closing time. It was the only chance he had of avoiding Vera. She was working tonight, at least. It was part of the reason that he had decided not to go along to the regimental dinner. He did not want to watch her subtly flirting with the people he worked with. He already knew that she knew several of them intimately, but seeing it happening so blatantly in front of his colleagues would only make him angry because they would shoot him those smug, knowing looks that made it apparent that they would be gossiping about it the moment his back was turned. They already did enough gossiping about him. He knew that they chinwagged about the fact that he skipped work far more than he turned up, and when he did finally sometimes drag himself there, he looked bloody terrible. It wouldn't be long before he was pulled aside for a formal reprimand—or much worse. These days, he didn't care much. The whole thing disengaged him with its hypocrisy. Everyone sitting around tables with rich foods, congratulating themselves on a job well done whilst somewhere in the world a poor, innocent family was torn apart…no, that wasn't for him. The desk job they had shoved him in, peddling propaganda, made his stomach sour. How could the army continue to push its declarations of standing up for Britain when it advocated such atrocities? The things he had seen in Africa still haunted him every day. Those men blown apart. The malnourished children who grew weaker and died. The women who were raped and beaten. And he couldn't escape it. Because he was still tied to the army with bloody entrails.

Let them bloody well talk about his absence. He knocked back another whiskey and swayed on his stool.

Sometimes, he wondered if his old captain still had nightmares. Wondered if he still had flashbacks to that awful night. Thankfully, most of it was wiped from his mind. He still didn't know how he hadn't bled out and died right there. Captain Crawley had said that their regiment had dispatched another group on patrol, and they had heard the gunshots and rushed to aid. It was because of them that he'd got the medical help required. John had never bothered to ask more. It was the last time he had ever seen him.

"All alone, handsome?"

Squinting, he turned his head to his left to find a woman standing next to him. Her breasts were popping out of her dress, her makeup applied thickly. It was obvious to all the men what she was. They whistled and jeered at her, many reaching out to touch her in some way. She didn't seem to care, brushing them away with sheer indifference.

"Are you going to get me one of those?" she asked.

"Pub's for men, love," said a heavily set man a little further down the bar. "You do your business outside, not in here." It was met with raucous laughter from all corners.

John thought about what little money he had left in his pockets. He wouldn't get paid again until the end of the week, and there were still groceries to think about. If he bought her a drink, he would be leaving himself short.

He knew, deep down, that he was lying to himself. He chose drink over food every day, and Vera would do the same to feed her own drinking habit. But buying her a drink would lead to business of a different kind.

And he couldn't deny that he'd be tempted to. Men had other women every single day. He wouldn't be doing anything unorthodox if he did accept what she was offering. It would be bliss, probably, to seek comfort from a woman who expected nothing but payment at the end of it, someone who wouldn't manipulate him, someone he could say goodnight to at the end of it all and never see again.

Yet, somehow, he still had a warped sense of honour. He had taken wedding vows. He had promised to be faithful, no matter how much of a sham his marriage was. Even if Vera flaunted it in his face that he wasn't her only lover.

"I'm sure someone else will be happy to buy you a drink," he said gruffly. "Excuse me."

He pushed the bar stool away; he stumbled as he found his feet, the room spinning. More catcalls and jeers. He ignored them and managed to find his way to the exit.

The cold wind was a stinging slap to the face. He swayed for a moment before taking a wobbling step forward. Christ, he'd had more to drink than he'd realised. Well, no matter. It was better this way. Things hurt less when he was numb.

He managed to make his way back out onto the street. It was largely quiet now. For a moment he thought about finding another pub, but his temples were pounding now and it wouldn't do him any good. He couldn't go home yet, either. Vera might just be getting in from work, and he couldn't stand the idea of having to sit there listening to her insults, or, worse, of her wanting to touch him. That was the last thing he was in the mood for at the present time. No, there was a park just over yonder. He would sit there for a while and return home when he could be certain that Vera was fast asleep.

He limped over to the park's gates and headed inside. There were several benches grouped together and he selected one, breathing deeply as he stretched out his leg. In recent weeks it had started to hurt a little more. Nothing for any real concern, but he remembered with distaste what he had been told during his recovery: that one day he might wake up and it would be worse. Christ, that really would mark the end then. If he couldn't work properly, life wouldn't be worth living.

Fumbling in his pockets, he drew out a cigarette. He managed to light it after several attempts, and tilted his head back so he could contemplate the night sky. It looked, strangely, even more beautiful at the moment, blurred and bright as it was. He wondered who else might be looking up at the sky at this very moment, what their lives might be like, what they might be thinking or wishing. Wondered what the future might hold.

Couldn't know that the future held the irony of never seeing the night sky properly again for two years, that when he eventually woke up in the morning to the banging on the front door, he would have a choice to make.

For now, the stars twinkled knowingly in a way that he could not even begin to understand.

* * *

The night was cold, but he didn't mind that. It was simply nice to get away from all the whispers and stares that dogged his every step. He hadn't been naïve. He'd expected some backlash and raised eyebrows over his suitability to dress the Earl of Grantham, but he hadn't expected to face such hostilities as he had from the likes of Thomas and Miss O'Brien. The suspicions of the others highlighted to him that he didn't have a single friend in this place. It made him feel lonely. Which was absurd, really, because he'd rarely felt loneliness in any kind of situation.

For the first time, John was beginning to doubt his decision to come here. Lord Grantham—he had to keep reminding himself to call him that, not Captain Crawley, as he had known him then—had told him to get in contact should he ever desire work, but he had been afraid that that would be retracted because of the injury. It had felt cowardly to enquire about a job without being transparent about the current condition of his knee, but he hadn't dared do anything else. He had tried getting other work, but it had all been thrown back in his face. This was his final chance. If he couldn't make a success of himself here, there was nothing else. He might as well head straight for the workhouse, because that was where he would end up.

His mother wrote to him every week, giving him encouraging words of advice. None of them made him feel any better. They just made the margins for failure even more severe, because she was expecting great things of him.

" _At least you don't have that woman sinking her claws into you any longer,"_ she was fond of saying. That was the only way she would refer to Vera now. In reality, she couldn't be further from the truth. Vera was an unseen albatross hanging around his neck, dragging him to his knees, making him pay for his sins. He still blamed her for some of the chaos of the last decade, but he couldn't blame her for everything. Sitting behind bars had forced him to face his demons. The fact that she had scarpered at the first opportunity, never to be seen again, had forced him to look clearly at himself. She had not been at fault for his injury, nor had she made him drink himself stupid every night. No, those were his own actions, and he couldn't ever atone for them.

But he was trying to turn his life around. Prison had made him sober up, excruciating as it had been, and he hadn't touched a single drop of alcohol since leaving that dank place behind. Although the itch was there, like a scratch on the roof of his mouth, he had steeled himself and remained strong. That, at least, was something to be proud of.

The sound of the back door opening behind him made him stir. He turned to find the young head housemaid, Anna, slipping outside. She stopped short when she saw him, eyes wide.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Bates," she said. "I didn't realise you were out here."

At least she wasn't Thomas or Miss O'Brien. He smiled warmly at her. "There's nothing to apologise for."

"I don't want to disturb you."

"Not at all. The courtyard is big enough for more than just me. And I daresay you have more right to be out here than I do."

"Don't say that," she protested, stepping out of the doorway. "You're fitting in very well."

John knew she was just saying it to be kind, but he said nothing. She ventured closer.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?" she asked.

"Not at all," he replied automatically. In truth, it was hardly ideal—he had never been one for small talk—but so far Anna was the only person besides his lordship who did not treat him with mistrust, or openly stare at him when he limped by. He didn't want to offend the one person who had treated him as a human being during his time here.

She closed the rest of the distance between them, and he shifted to the side so that she could squeeze next to him on the crates. He was acutely aware of the way her shoulder brushed against his as she settled herself, and he shivered.

But that was only because of the cold.

Anna sighed, seemingly oblivious, and tilted her head up to the glittering stars. "It's nice to have a quiet moment at the end of the day, isn't it?"

"It is," he agreed.

"It's just so easy to lose yourself in the chaos of the house and forget to think about the important things," she continued. He wondered about the important things in her life. Was there a secret beau somewhere? Young women were often safeguarded like prisoners by housekeepers, but some still slipped through the net.

"Has it been a very busy day?" he asked, pushing his idle intrigue away. He had no right to any of that information.

"I've had worse," she said brightly. "But I couldn't stand another moment of Thomas and Miss O'Brien sneering at everything. I do often wonder how they get anything done when they spend so much time complaining."

John snorted, but felt it best to keep his own counsel. There was nothing about Anna that suggested she was untrustworthy, but if he ever let slip something to someone, he didn't want to be in disgrace for badmouthing his colleagues.

Silence reigned for a few more moments. He kept his focus on the sky, determined not to look at the woman beside him.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?"

"Yes," he said.

"I've loved looking up at the night sky since being a child. There's something about it."

He supposed she was right. The night sky _did_ hold an ethereal kind of beauty, and he had always found his gaze straying to it in times of crisis and uncertainty. Those millions of glittering points were mesmeric, how some shone brighter than others, how many there were when the sky was free of the oppressive smog of the city. The stars were clearer here at Downton than he had seen for a long time.

"They were beautiful out in Africa, too," he found himself saying.

"You don't have to talk about the war if you don't want to," she said at once. "I'm not Daisy. I don't want to pry for any details." It was true that the young kitchen maid had tried to interrogate him several times about warfare. It wasn't always pleasant, but he didn't begrudge her. She was only young, and was bound to be inquisitive about the world. It did not seem like she had any real role models in her life, and from what he had seen so far she was frequently treated with exasperation and indifference by the other members of staff.

Once more, only Anna treated her kindly in their every interaction. Once more, it showed what a selfless, thoughtful heart she had. He strived to do the same. Somehow, she made him want to be the best person he could be.

To seek her approval.

Which was a very frightening prospect.

"I don't mind," he said quickly. "There were some good memories of the war."

"And some bad," Anna said quietly. "War is always the same. And sometimes the good memories can be tainted beyond repair by the bad."

He turned to her, surprised. "Yes, sometimes. You sound as if you know something about warfare. Have you brothers in the army?" She was only young herself, but her brothers might be older, and she herself always appeared wise beyond her years.

She shook her head. "I don't have brothers." She did not elaborate.

Taking the hint, he did not pry further. But it made him wonder. Was there someone else? A father perhaps?

The mysterious beau he envisaged she must have somewhere?

"How do you find Downton, anyway?" she asked abruptly, distracting him.

"It's fine," he said.

"I know the others haven't made it easy for you."

"It's not for you to apologise. It's not your fault."

"Even so, I feel terrible that they're treating you like that. It's not fair."

"I can understand their reservations. It's not a typical situation." John tapped his cane sardonically against his leg.

Anna's eyes flashed. "Why should any of it matter? It's not stopping you from doing your main duties."

"Only the extras."

"I'm sorry, but if Thomas was valet, _he'd_ never want to do the extra duties either! And not because he has a legitimate and heroic reason! You fought for your country. Thomas is just lazy and arrogant, and would think it beneath him."

John felt a warm glow in his chest at the thought that Anna thought him heroic. It was a sensation he was not used to. An unsettling one. But, really, he shouldn't read too much into it. Defending the underdog was simply in her nature. That was clear for anyone to see. And she was misguided. He was far from a hero.

"It doesn't stop me wishing that I _could_ be useful to Mr. Carson. I understand his frustration, that's all I'm saying."

"Well, at the end of the day, the only person whose opinion matters is Lord Grantham's. And he's very happy with you."

"How do you know that?" he asked.

She shot him a sideways smile. "I do have the ear of the girls, Mr. Bates. Lady Sybil told me. She said that she'd not seen his lordship as happy in a long time. So you must be doing something right. There's more to doing the job than just _doing_ the job. There was always something sly about Mr. Watson. And then he made off with what he could get and that was that."

John's heart jolted unpleasantly at the mention of stolen goods. He wanted to bury that part of his past deep beneath the surface, but it appeared that it could never be erased. He would never be washed clean. The sins would follow him everywhere, and he would constantly be reminded of the lie he was living. The fact that Lord Grantham trusted him made it worse. It showed him for what he really was. Willing to manipulate people for his own, desperate ends.

"Mr. Bates? Are you all right?"

Anna was staring at him curiously. Not good. He forced himself to smile.

"I'm fine," he said. "What can you tell me about stars?"

She blinked at the abrupt change in topic. "Stars?"

"Yes. You said you enjoyed looking up at them."

"And I do. But I'm no expert."

"Well, neither am I. But I know a few of them. I'm sure you do too."

"Perhaps," she said.

"Then let's share information. Perhaps we'll both learn something new."

She was silent for a moment before saying, "All right." Relief flooded him. For a few moments, the conversation had been drifting towards very dangerous territory. That had to be avoided at all costs. This, at least, was a safe topic. Natural. Easy to control. He just had to be self-aware enough not to let his control slip. He sensed that with Anna, the longer he knew her, the harder that might become. There was something about her, an air of gentleness that drew him to her. He watched her now as she tilted her head back to take in the full expanse of the night sky, studded with so many sterling silver stars.

"That's the Dog Star just there," she said, lifting her arm up to point it out. "It was the first one that I ever learned."

"It's the one that always draws me in," he replied. "Its brightness always catches the eye."

"Mine too," she confessed. "All the others seem to pale beside it. It's the one I love most. And my dad, he showed me…"

He let her chatter on, leaning back slightly as he listened to her Yorkshire lilt. He couldn't remember the last time he had had someone so open around him, someone who looked past all of his physical faults to the fact that he had a human heart in his ribcage, the same as anyone else. Of course, her opinion of him would change dramatically if she knew all of his sins, but he hoped that here, in this quiet Yorkshire village, they would never come to light again. He could exist with them just in the agonising depths of his own conscience.

While it lasted, at least, he could enjoy this. Anna was not a friend just yet, but she was well on her way to becoming one. And, if he was honest with himself, he wasn't quite sure how he felt about that, but it was something. He let his gaze flicker down to her face, silvered by the moon and stars.

In his hardened, solitary life, it was something.

* * *

God, it had been so, so difficult to be without her.

John wound his arms around her so tightly that he was almost afraid that he was hurting her, but he couldn't seem to make himself lessen his grip. In any case, Anna was clinging on to him just as tightly as he was holding on to her, her forehead buried tight to his chest, hidden in the alcove by the back door while the servants clattered about in the servants' hall. They would have to move outside soon, as they'd told Mrs. Hughes they would be, but he hadn't been able to wait that long. Christ, he had missed her so much, and in that small space it had been impossible not to take her into his arms. He had been back at Downton for almost three hours now, and this was the first moment they had managed alone. It was the first time he had been able to touch her properly. The way her hand had ghosted over him as he'd passed her hardly counted. He wanted to stay like this with her forever.

But he couldn't.

With great reluctance, he pulled away from her.

"Let's go outside," he whispered, muffling his words against her temple. He could tell that the idea of letting him go did not sit well with her, but she followed his lead nevertheless, pulling open the back door and slipping outside. The cold was like a slap to the face. No one would be able to stand it out here for too long.

It was probably a good thing, with both of their emotions running so high.

They still had so many things to discuss, but for now they kept things simple, reaffirming their feelings for each other, John promising that he would get rid of Vera no matter what. Right now, he truly believed that he could do so. He had everything in place. The proof he needed. They just needed to be patient for a little while longer.

As she had said before, they were both good at being patient. For the most part.

He promised her that she was stuck with him now, for good and proper, and she snugged back against him, running her hands over his back soothingly. He closed his eyes. She had the most healing of touches.

But the spell couldn't last forever. Once more, he was loath to break their embrace, but he had to.

"The concert will be starting soon," he said. "We should get back inside."

"Five more minutes," she pleaded. "Don't deny me five more minutes of having you completely to myself. I've had to make do with just one afternoon every two weeks. I've got a lot of catching up to do if I want my fill of you."

He had to smile at that. "Believe me, it feels no different for me."

"So it's a yes, then?"

"You are my one weakness, Anna Smith," he said. "I'd spend every moment alone with you if I could."

"Better not tempt me, Mr. Bates," she said breathlessly. "I'm not sure how good my resolve is right now."

"And God knows it's a bad idea to trust me," he said, his voice embarrassingly gravelly. But it was true. Those long months without her had only made the ache for her worse. He pulled her closer to him and rested his chin on the crown of her head. She made a contented hum in the back of her throat and pressed her ear over his heart. He wondered how fast it was thundering.

At length, she murmured, "I wished on a star that you'd come back if Lord Grantham asked it of you. Does that sound silly?"

John pulled away a little, enough to peer down at her. "No, it doesn't. But I thought you would have put more stock in God than the stars."

"And I did," she replied. "I prayed for you every night. But sometimes we all need a little extra help, don't we?"

Her eyes were shining with joy, and the strength of it made him swallow. "I suppose that's true." He didn't have much faith in God, so why not the stars? He had often looked up at them and thought of Anna, wondering if her gaze was latched on to the very same star that he was looking at, wondering if his gaze was intense enough, she would sense it and know that he was thinking of her.

"And it must have worked," Anna continued, "because you're here with me now."

"I am," he agreed, moving his hands down her back. He wasn't quite certain that she was shaking because of the cold. A dangerous game, that was what they were playing. The most glorious of dangerous games. He forced himself to stop.

But Anna pressed nearer to him, her eyes half-lidded and more grey than blue. She rose up on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck for balance. He breathed in the scent of her, something light and flowery, the musky scent of the sweat from her labour. It was a combination he had missed to a painful level.

"Kiss me, Mr. Bates," she murmured.

He sucked in a breath. "What?"

"You heard me."

There was that teasing, challenging lilt in her voice, the one he could never resist. He would be a fool to say that he didn't want to kiss her. The one perk of him being in Kirkbymoorside was the fact that no one had really known either of them there. They had been free to wander around the neighbouring parts completely uninhibited, holding hands, able to kiss when no one was looking, both chaste little pecks that made him fall in love with her even more, and longer, slower, dreamy kisses that held so many promises for the future.

Even then, he was glad to be here with her now. Glad that he could speak to her every day, and just generally be near her. The restrictions on them might be back in place, but they didn't seem as bad when he could look upon her smiling face.

That didn't mean he was going to pass up the opportunity to kiss her, though.

"You're going to be the death of me, Anna Smith," he said.

"I hope not," she replied. "I want to be your reason for living."

He felt the stinging of tears behind his eyes, and blinked them away. "Believe me, you could never be anything else."

"Good," she said simply. "Now kiss me, Mr. Bates."

What else was there to say? John pulled her even closer to him, reacquainting himself with the curves of her body, and lowered his face towards hers. She met him eagerly, kissed him with such soft passion that he almost melted. One of his hands travelled up to the back of her neck, tilting her head further towards him, locking her in place. She opened her mouth beneath his, inviting him deeper, and he had to stifle a moan in the back of his throat. They remained locked together like that for some time, simply enjoying one another, safe in the knowledge that they were reunited once more. That they loved each other so very much.

"Oh!"

Anna pulled away from him with such sharpness that for a moment he was taken by surprise, left trying to catch up with reality. As Anna retracted back onto her heels, he glanced over her shoulder to find the source of the interruption. He felt the heat rushing to his cheeks.

Oh, indeed.

Mrs. Hughes.

Her own face was pink, and she was staring at a point just past them. "Don't mind me. I was just coming to tell you that the concert is about to start."

John hadn't even realised how quickly time had run away from them. He cleared his throat, wincing a little at how unsteady he sounded. "Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. We're coming."

She nodded, still not quite meeting their eyes, and withdrew.

As soon as she was gone, Anna descended into a fit of embarrassed giggling. John cocked his eyebrow at her—really, how could she find that amusing?—but rather than sobering her up, it only made her laugh harder. In the end, he felt his own lips twitching. Her giddiness was infectious.

"Oh, God," she said at length, wiping at her eyes, where tears of mirth had pooled. "I don't think she was expecting that."

"Neither were we," he pointed out. Having someone who took on a matronly role for Anna interrupting them had rather killed the mood. For some reason, his words only made Anna burst into another fit of giggles.

"If we're not careful, she's going to discipline us," she said when she'd caught her breath again. "We've always been the perfect images of decorum, and I don't think she realised just how much we love each other until just then."

He flushed all over at the implication. Usually he was very good at restraining himself, but it had been so long since he'd had the giddy knowledge that he would see her every day that he just hadn't been able to stop himself. Looking at her now, he saw that her hair was just the tiniest bit dishevelled, a hint at the passion that had been growing between them for weeks. Finally, it seemed, Mrs. Hughes understood the true depths of the feelings and longing that followed them wherever they went. She understood that, in time, when it was honest and legal to do so, there would be so much more than quiet chasteness to their actions.

"I'm sure she'll haul me up in front of her to remind me of the dangers of courting a man," Anna mused, her fingers moving up to toy with the stray strands of hair that had fallen from her bun. He flashed to what it would be like to seeing her hair falling down around her in waves, and swallowed hard against the image and the swell of feelings inside him.

"I'm sorry," he offered.

She tutted, expertly pinning her hair back in place without a single falter. "Don't be. I'm certainly not. A scolding is more than a worthy price for a kiss like that."

"Anna," he warned, and she laughed again, a joyous, tinkling sound.

"Don't worry, Mr. Bates, I'm not about to ask for a repeat performance," she said. "We'll have to save that for special occasions. Now, come on, hurry up. If we don't get back inside, Mrs. Hughes is going to come looking for us again, and I don't think she'll be so forgiving next time."

"You were the one who caused it," he pointed out.

"I can't help it if I find you so handsome. I'm only human, after all."

"You certainly know how to flatter a man," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Did it work enough to win me one last kiss?"

"Perhaps. Why don't you see for yourself?"

She huffed, but it didn't stop her from reaching up to him once more. He let his eyes slide closed as her mouth brushed his own—

"Anna, Mr. Bates!"

They sprang apart for a second time, scalded; Mrs. Hughes stood in the doorway again, her arms folded across her chest and a scowl on her face.

"Really, that's quite enough," she said exasperatedly. "I'm very happy that you're back, Mr. Bates, but you need to put Anna down now. I won't allow the standards of her work to fall, nor for you to set a bad example for the younger members of staff. Come now, hurry along."

Anna ducked her head. "I'm coming this time, Mrs. Hughes. Really."

"I'm sorry," John added. "It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't. Now, thirty more seconds. I'm counting."

With that, she disappeared again. John had no doubt that she was lingering just inside the doorway, daring them to disobey her again. It wouldn't do to cross her. Mindful of their seconds rushing by, he squeezed Anna's hand one more time.

"Will you accompany me to the concert, Miss Smith?" he murmured.

"With pleasure, Mr. Bates. I just have one request."

"What's that?"

"Meet me outside again, when it's all done."

"Is that a good idea? We don't want to test Mrs. Hughes' patience too much on my first day back."

She shook her head, as if he'd said something very stupid. "Not for more of this. I want something else."

"What?" he said in alarm. "Anna, you know we can't, not until we're married—"

"I wasn't meaning that! Goodness, that was the furthest thing from my mind."

It wasn't always. She wouldn't have offered to be his mistress otherwise. But he tempered down the guilty twinge of longing and asked, "What do you want, then?"

Anna smiled at him. "I want to rekindle our favourite pastime. I've looked at the book you bought me on the stars several times since you left, but I could never bring myself to use it properly, not without you. But now that you're back, we can start to share it again. It'll be just like old times."

"I would like that," he whispered. "Very much." Nothing ever seemed to beat the quiet intimacy of being huddled together over that worn book, deciphering constellations, fingers brushing, sitting close together as they perused the heavens.

"Good," she said. "When we've a spare minute, I'll go up and get the book. We might have a little time together before Mr. Carson wants to lock up, and that's better than nothing."

"And I can always offer to do it. I've done it plenty of times before. That would buy us a little more time."

Anna giggled. "I'm not sure Mrs. Hughes would trust us with that, not tonight."

John cleared his throat. "Yes, well. We'll make do with the few extra minutes and I'll thank my lucky stars for my good fortune of being back here with you."

"Very good," she said approvingly. "Now we'd better hurry before Mrs. Hughes' patience is well and truly spent. Come on."

And with that she left him with one last kiss, as fleeting and powerful as a shooting star. Dazed, John licked his lips, savouring the lingering taste of her, and followed her inside.

* * *

Their marriage was enough to light up the whole heavens. In his desperate naivety, John had hoped and prayed that it would last, that the twinkling lights in their hearts would be enough to overcome the darkness.

But stars lived lifetimes in heartbeats, and the darkness always smothered them out.

Months of cloying darkness shadowed him. Grey faces. Grey places. Lost hope. Anna was the only beacon of light in that dark hell, but her visits were too fleeting and sometimes, though he was loath to admit it, she wasn't always enough to keep the darkness at bay.

His tiny cell was stifling. Faint light passed in through the bars set high up on the wall, but the window was so small that it might as well never have existed. Even if he craned his neck right back he could barely see through it, and there were no stars to guide him here. No stars to wish upon. No stars that could comfort him with the hope that Anna was looking upon the same one too.

He was completely alone in a starless existence.

* * *

And then there was light once more.

Because he was home. The words kept going round and round in his head. He was home.

It was surreal.

All day he was approached by well-wishers, who shook his hand vigorously, proclaiming loudly that they'd known that it had always been destined to be a short spell of time before he was back with them again. A misunderstanding that had needed to be rectified. As if none of them had ever doubted his innocence for even a moment.

John knew that that wasn't true, but he accepted the blessings gratefully all the same.

More than anything, he wanted Anna to himself. It had been far too long since he had last been able to enjoy her company, and it was torturous to have her so near and yet so far away now that they were truly free to touch one another. To love one another.

They had managed just two moments alone all day. The first had come right at the beginning, in the courtyard just before he had stepped back inside Downton. She had taken his face into her palms and kissed him soundly, and it had made him burn anew for her. They had eighteen months of loving to make up for.

The second had been even more torturous. On their walk to the cottages, where they had gazed upon the little row that would hopefully become familiar to them sometime very soon in the future, it had been almost impossible to keep his hands off her. She had looked so beautiful, with the sunlight streaming down and highlighting the gold of her hair. A real faery amongst the living, that was what she was, flitting around with a bright, mischievous smile. He had held her hand all the way there, and she hadn't let him go for even a second. Every so often they had stopped to exchange kisses, the sheer normalcy of the action completely overwhelming him. It had been nine long months since he had last kissed her, double the time since he had last kissed her without the tinge of desperation and heartache and finality behind the action. It didn't seem real.

But it was. He had never been able to conjure up the feel of her smile beneath his own as vividly as this, nor the pressure of her hand in his, or the weight of her body. On the way home she had pulled him behind a thicket of trees and kissed him slowly, with all of the pent up feelings that had been raging within him for months. He had clung to her, surrendered to her, wanted to freeze the moment forever.

But, sadly, the world had not been suspended for their reunion. Anna still had duties to complete for Lady Mary. He was moorless for now, uncomfortably so, watching Thomas complete his tasks with the smugness of someone who had won a fight. There was still a sharp prick of panic deep within him, but he tried not to focus on that for now. That was a worry for further down the road. He owed it to Anna to focus entirely on the two of them.

Dinner was a lively, raucous affair. Whilst he had been skulking upstairs in his old room, waiting for Anna to finish dressing Lady Mary for dinner, the other servants had gone to the trouble of transforming the servants' hall. Bunting was draped around the perimeter of the room. The best cutlery had been laid out. Jimmy was playing lively tunes on the piano. And Mrs. Hughes, the appointed spokesperson, told him that they were having a little celebration to honour his release. He didn't think he'd ever seen Anna grinning as widely as she did then, clinging to him as if she was on the arm of a high society man.

The whole thing was a little overwhelming, but he was resolved to enjoy it, for her sake. She had had so little reason to smile over the past eighteen months. He would not spoil this experience for her. She deserved the spotlight to be on her, to be the centre of attention.

Mrs. Patmore had cooked all his favourite things. The table was groaning beneath the amount of food. The drink was flowing. Cheers and laughter were rife. Thankfully, there weren't too many questions asked about prison and what the conditions were like. If any of the younger members of staff dared to broach such a topic, they were quickly shut down by one of Mrs. Hughes' fearsome looks of disapproval, or Mr. Carson's impressive furrowed brows.

Throughout it all, Anna laughed and chatted freely. Her cheeks had gone pink from the wine she had consumed, and she kept leaning in to him, bumping her shoulder against his affectionately, or stroking her hand down his forearm or, once, pressing her lips to his cheek and making him blush in turn.

When the eating was done, the kitchen maids cleared the table and Jimmy and Alfred pushed it back against the wall. John raised his eyebrow.

"What's happening now?" he said.

"Dancing, Mr. Bates!" Daisy said enthusiastically. "Everyone loves dancing! And what's a better time than this?"

John could think of plenty of better times. He had never been much of a dancer, even when he had been full-bodied. It wasn't as if he'd been bad at it. He had been rather good. But as a young man with fleeting attention, he had never much enjoyed the forced intimacy of it, of the way that his partner would look up into his face, the whole expectancy of the moment.

Now, of course, it was a whole role reversal. He would love nothing more than to dance with Anna. But the capabilities had long since deserted him. And the days where he had enjoyed being the centre of attention had long gone. To dance with Anna so intimately, with everyone watching, speculating, judging…

He had never danced at Downton before. It wasn't that he hadn't wanted to. Sometimes he had, desperately. But he had never wanted to make a fool of himself in front of the others.

Had been terrified of revealing more than he could ever possibly say if he was ever allowed the opportunity to dance with Anna. Dancing was an intimate act of itself, and he was sure that his feelings would have been there for everyone to see.

Things were different again now. Anna was his wife. There was no shame in any of it. Nothing had to be kept a secret.

And she loved dancing. If she wanted to dance, he could never deny her. Even if it meant making a fool out of himself.

Mrs. Hughes sidled up to them, a glass of sherry in her hands. "What do you say, Anna, Mr. Bates? We were all deprived the honour of joining you at your wedding. It would be nice to see you have this first dance as man and wife, even if it is a little overdue."

Anna's eyes were glowing. "What do you say, Mr. Bates?"

Sweat accumulated at his temples, but John forced himself to smile. "More to the point, what do you say?"

"Well, it's a nice idea, but if you don't want to…"

"I want to," he found himself saying. "Of course I want to."

Mrs. Hughes patted his arm. "Excellent. Then lead on, Mr. and Mrs. Bates."

Mr. and Mrs. Bates. Hearing those words was enough to calm his nerves. Yes, he could do this. For his wife.

The other servants gathered in a circle around the room. Anna slipped her hand into his and tugged him into the middle of the circle. Jimmy struck up a new tune on the piano, and John took her into his arms.

The rest of the world fell away.

What they were doing could hardly be called dancing. Anna knew that he struggled with the pressure on his knee, and gently swayed with him in a tune completely separate from the music. It probably looked odd but now, in the moment, he couldn't find it within him to care. All that existed was his beautiful Anna, his strong warrior, his champion. And he could never thank her enough for what she had done for him. Without even thinking about it he bent down and pressed his forehead to hers. She tightened her hold on him, pushing herself as close as she could. Dimly, he registered the clapping in the background, but it was insignificant.

"Thank you," he breathed. "Thank you, my love."

"Never thank me," she whispered. "I'd do it a thousand times over for you. I love you."

"I love you too." More than he could ever express. He would never be able to repay her for what she had done for him. He knew that she would never want him to. She'd tell him that she'd done it for herself as much as for him, but that didn't change the facts.

Others had started to join them on the dancefloor, he realised, taking the attention away from them. He was glad for that. It meant he could enjoy this moment with Anna exclusively. He read the same thoughts in her eyes. She leaned up on her tiptoes and put her mouth right next to his ear. Her warm breath made him shiver.

"When this is all done," she whispered, "come to my room. Please. I don't share any more, not now I'm a lady's maid."

The blood thrummed in his veins. The insinuation was clear. If he went, there would be no innocent sleeping. They had had eighteen months to dream about their wedding night. Eighteen months to ache for a repeat performance. It would be dangerous. There were so many things that could go wrong. The last thing he wanted to do was besmirch her honour.

"Are you sure?" he said lowly. "We don't have to, you know. We can wait. We'll have a home of our own soon enough." God, he hoped they would.

"I can't wait that long," Anna said. "I need something to keep me focused until then. I need _you_ , Mr. Bates. One night, that's all we've had. We deserve another one."

"If we're to do this, you have to call me John," he said.

"It's a force of habit when we're surrounded by others. When we're on our own, though…"

Her words trailed off suggestively, and he swallowed. Damn it, how could he deny her anything?

"All right," he managed.

"Thank you," she breathed. "I'll unlock the door when I go upstairs. Wait until it's quiet and come to me."

He could do nothing but nod. Around them, the party continued, the others oblivious to the things that had passed between them.

It was the slowest period in his life. He willed time to move faster, for the others to tire and head off to bed. It would look rude to duck out first, guests of honour as they were supposed to be. So he was forced to mingle with the others, to pretend that all was well, and glance in Anna's direction and fix on her knowing looks and flush all over with anticipation for what was to come.

At last, Mr. Carson cleared his throat.

"Right," he said. "I think it's time for bed, all. It's business as usual in the morning, bright and early from dawn. It would be foolish to continue on any longer."

This was met with indignation from the younger servants, but the stalwart butler remained unmoved. John had never been more grateful to him. Once order had been restored to the room, the servants filtered out one by one. With one last embrace and a chaste kiss, all for show, Anna slipped from the room too, casting one last lingering look over her shoulder. John took a moment to compose himself before following, making his way towards the men's quarters.

Once there, he set about tidying himself up as best he could. He still had plenty of time until the women's quarters fell silent, and he wanted to be the best version of himself possible for his wife. He shaved meticulously, sponged himself off, combed his hair, and put on fresh pyjamas. If he was caught in the corridor before he made it to the partition, at least he would be able to bluff his way through it by claiming that he was going to the washroom.

Too full of nervous energy to relax, he paced up and down his room, checking the hands on his pocket watch every few seconds. He wondered what Anna was doing, then abruptly forced himself to stop because it wasn't very conducive to his physical state.

And, finally, it was time to go. Leaving his cane leaning against the wall, he opened his door. His heart thudded loudly in his head. He was quite sure that it would bring everyone running to discover the source of the noise, but as he crept along the corridor everything remained blissfully quiet. He held his breath while he turned the doorknob on the partition between the men and women's quarters. True to her word, Anna had unlocked it. He paused for a second to gather his courage before tiptoeing across it. Once there, he beat a hasty path for Anna's room. It most certainly wouldn't do to be caught lingering here.

As soon as he pushed the door open, Anna was there, tugging him over the threshold. She closed the door quietly behind her and, without preamble, launched herself into his arms. He almost stumbled against the bureau, but that didn't deter her. Her mouth found his, and for several long minutes he lost himself in kissing her.

At length, she pulled away from him.

"I'm so glad you're here," she whispered.

"Me too," he replied. It was the truth. As wary as he still was over the whole encounter, it didn't change the basic facts. He needed to be with her tonight. He needed to hold her in his arms, to cement that this wasn't yet another lonely dream that he would wake from in the morning.

"Shall we…?" she said, a tremor in her voice. He touched her hip.

"Only if you want to," he said. "It would be more than enough to simply hold you all night long. I have no expectations. I just want to be with you."

It seemed to settle her. "I want to be with you properly, John. Nothing else will do tonight. Let me just get the curtains."

She began to make her way towards them, but he followed her, staying her hand when she reached out to pull them to. There was a quizzical frown on her face when she turned to look at him.

"What is it?" she asked.

He shook his head, trying to articulate the things in his heart. "Can you…can you leave the curtains open? Please? It's been so long since I last saw the stars. I don't want to feel closed in, not tonight."

Her gaze softened with understanding. "Of course we can leave them. I'll open the windows a bit too, so it doesn't feel as stuffy in here."

She cracked them open as wide as she could, then stepped back. He moved towards the breeze, pushing his head out to enjoy the cool air on his face. Christ, he had forgotten what a simple pleasure this was. He closed his eyes, soaking up the moment, enjoying the simplicity of it all.

A rustling sound behind him brought him back to the moment. Reluctantly, he turned from the window.

His mother fell open in awe. All other thoughts fled from his head. She was the only thing remaining.

Anna looked like Aphrodite. Her milky skin was a pale splash in the darkness. While he had been enjoying the night air, she had taken off her clothes. Now she stood before him in the nude, small and slight and strong. Gorgeous.

His.

She located the last pin in her hair, and he watched, fascinated, as it began to tumble down around her, framing her in delicate gold. Some strands fell in front of her, teasing him by hiding those beautiful breasts from his eyes. She jutted her chin up proudly.

"It's time, John," she whispered. There was no ounce of fear in her voice.

It was the most erotic thing he had ever seen.

Numbly, he stepped away from the window, his fingers straying to the buttons on his pyjama shirt of their own accord. He fumbled to get them open while Anna closed the gap between them, catching his mouth with her own.

The rest was a blur.

With her help, he managed to strip off the rest of his clothes. Without hesitation she slipped her hand between them, and he stifled a moan as her hand worked over him with soft tenderness. Christ. It had been so very, very long since she had last touched him.

Trying to distract himself from what she was doing, he grasped the back of her neck gently and kissed her. It was clumsy and unrefined, but she made a breathy sound in the back of her throat and pushed nearer. He held her as close as physically possible when they were in such a position, electricity sizzling across him, sparking wherever he brushed against her bare skin. He was almost frightened of how much he wanted her. Never in his whole life had he felt as intensely as he did at that moment.

"Shall…shall we get into bed?" Anna's voice was reedy and breathless, but there was no hint of trepidation. Just overwhelming certainty. Her confidence served to calm him. There was absolutely nothing to worry about. He was safe. She would never hurt him. And he owed her the world.

"All right," he breathed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He ached with the loss of her touch as she slipped away from him, but he couldn't be disappointed because his eyes were treated to a true wonder. A work of art.

He would be quite happy to gaze at her all night long, to have his fill of her after so long without this image in his head. On their wedding night, she had been gilded gold by the firelight. She was no less stunning bathed in starlight. Her skin was pale, nymph-like, her hair almost silver. Every supple line was dappled in shadows, teasing him. Her eyes were jet.

"John," she said.

That was all it took. Just that one syllable falling from her lips in that husky, needing voice. His name.

He was on the bed with her in the next moment, hunkering over her. It was a little uncomfortable, so utterly perfect. Anna manoeuvred under him as best she could in the squashed space, her legs opening wide around him to give him room to adjust himself. His gaze fell low over her, his body twinging in response to what he saw. A masterpiece. Unable to stop himself, he ran his fingers over her, shuddering in response to the heat that met him. Anna moaned softly, her neck arching, her body moulding to what he wanted, what she needed.

Things moved quickly after that. There would be time for slow exploration later, when the urgency fell away. In less than two minutes she was falling apart beneath his touch, and he was aching so much that he was afraid it would all be over the moment she touched him. When she reached for him, he shook his head, needing a moment to compose himself.

He couldn't resist for long. When she kissed him and snaked her legs around his back, he was done for. Her hand sneaked between them and found him. He stiffened, hardly daring to breathe as she guided him to where they desperately needed him to be. He found her gaze, wanting.

And then his vision was all bright lights and sparks. He took a deep, shuddering breath, holding still. Anna's own breath was uneven and fast, her hold on his waist suddenly tight.

It felt amazing. Better than he had ever remembered. He moved his hips just a little and pleasure rifled through him, razor sharp and overwhelming. Anna whimpered, her hands flying to his backside.

It was the final straw. Nothing could have held him in place after that.

Breaths mingled. Bodies moved as one. Hands roamed, touching, reclaiming. The narrow bed made it difficult on his knee, but he barely noticed it. There was nothing beyond Anna and the way she made him feel. She kissed him whenever she had the presence of mind to do so, other times panting harshly for breath, her mouth hot against his ear as she clawed at his back. He buried his face in her neck, raked his teeth over her shoulder. The mattress squeaked and the bed frame groaned, and none of it mattered. Let whoever was next door hear the symphony of their passion, the ragged, desirous gasps for breath. The heat was growing between them, a conflagration that would consume them both. John felt sweat trickling from between his shoulder blades. His hair was flopping into his eyes. There was a sheen on Anna's chest. When he slipped a hand between them, his fingers slid over her sweat-slicked thighs before finding the place that was damp for an entirely different reason. An involuntary sound escaped her, her body seeming to convulse of its own accord, and he felt a fierce jolt of pleasure in response. That was the spot.

He touched her again and her grip tightened to an almost painful degree. That same little sound escaped her again, making every nerve in his body tingle.

"Oh, God," she whispered. "Oh, God."

He kept touching her, over and over, and her breaths started to come harder and faster. Her body undulated frantically against him, forcing him to speed up. Her nails dug into him, delicious pain.

"John," she gasped nonsensically. "Oh, God, John, I'm-I'm going to—"

She never finished. In the next moment her whole body was convulsing, and she let out a long, surprised sound, so erotic in the quiet of night. It was enough to tip him over the edge too, and with a low, defeated sound of his own he exploded, screwing up his eyes, his whole body seeming to act outside of his control, his hips jerking desperately into the cradle of her body to prolong the pleasure for as long as possible.

All was quiet in the aftermath. Dazed, John lay with his face pressed into the pillow, trying to keep as much of his weight on his left side as possible to prevent himself from hurting his knee and squashing Anna beneath him. His heart thundered in his chest, and he took deep, shuddering breaths to get himself back under control, matching her. When he felt that he had enough strength in his watery limbs, he pushed away from her, wincing as he made them two separate people once more. He was hot and uncomfortably sticky, the sweat on his body beginning to dry now that their exertions were over. Anna struggled up on her elbows, glassy-eyed.

"Good Lord," she breathed.

"Are you all right?" he murmured, brushing wet tendrils of her hair away from her face.

She tugged him back down to her, tracing the tip of her nose over his. "More than all right, John. Never better." She pressed her mouth to his, and he lost himself for a brief moment in the soft perfection of her mouth.

But not for long. There were still things to attend to. Reluctantly, he parted from her and shuffled to the edge of the bed. His knee twinged. It would probably give him hell in the morning, but for now he couldn't bring himself to care. A little pain was more than worth it for the pleasure that he had found in his wife's arms.

"I brought a basin of water in," Anna said. "And there are a couple of flannels." She sounded shy now, embarrassed. "I'll sort myself out when you're done."

He left her reclining on the bed while he went about the business of tidying himself up. The room was almost oppressively hot, smelled of sweat and sex. He hoped that it would have time to air before Daisy came knocking in the morning. The last thing he wanted was for any scandalous tales to make it to the servants' hall.

That was if it wasn't already too late.

His cheeks burned anew at the thought. Downton's walls were thin, and the bed had been anything but quiet. He just hoped that whoever her neighbour was was a deep sleeper.

Slim arms wrapped around his middle. Lovely, bare breasts were pressed into his lower back. He felt a kiss low between his shoulder blades.

"You were a million miles away," Anna murmured. "Are _you_ all right?"

John turned in her arms, allowing his gaze to float over her from top to toe. He could only echo her words. "Never better."

"Good. I don't want you to regret anything."

"I could never regret anything with you. That's the honest truth."

He took her face in his hands and kissed her once more, still marvelling at the fact that he could do that whenever he wanted. At length, she pushed him away, smoothing her palm over his heart.

"Go and get in bed while I clean up," she whispered.

He nodded and padded back across to the bed. It would be an almost impossible squeeze to have them both there, but he was sure that they'd make it work. Using the empty bed in the room was out of the question. He couldn't let her go, not after what they'd shared tonight. He stretched himself out on the thin mattress and watched her go about her business through heavy lids. Watching her do that was erotic, but he tempered himself. Anna still had to rise early in the morning. It wouldn't be fair to deprive her of any more sleep.

When she was done, she tiptoed back across the room to his side, clambering on top of his left side and vining herself around him.

"Is this all right?" she asked.

He didn't trust himself to speak. Nodded. God, it was more than all right. The slide of her silken skin over his tired old bones was perfection. She snuggled herself further into him, tucking her head in the crook of his neck.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you too," he echoed hoarsely. "More than I could ever hope to show you. Now go to sleep. It's been a long day, for both of us."

"Promise that you'll still be here when I wake up?"

"I promise," he said, his throat closing over. "I swear to you, I'll be right here, still holding you tight. I never want to let you go again."

"Good," she said. "Goodnight, love."

"Goodnight, my darling."

They shared one last, lingering kiss before Anna settled back down. It took a long time for her breathing to deepen and even out. John counted the rise and fall of her chest against him. Without being conscious of it, his gaze drifted away from the beautiful slope of her body to the window, where the curtains swayed in the light breeze that teased his nakedness. The stars glowed, seeming to reflect the happiness he felt in his own chest. He kept his gaze latched on to them, tracing their beauty, revelling in the actuality of finally being free to look at them again after so long. They signified renewed hope, a fresh start. Every night from now on he could look up at them if he wished. They wouldn't be going anywhere. And neither was he.

It was that thought that carried him off. With a final sigh, he pressed his cheek to the crown of Anna's head and closed his eyes. Here, he'd found peace at last.

* * *

When John awoke that morning, he had the distinct feeling that Anna was up to something. She was trying to hide it behind innocent eyes and innocent nonchalance, but the truth of it was there in her smile. There was something going on.

When he asked her about it, she pleaded ignorance and insisted that he hurry before they were late for work. He tried to question her further, but she wouldn't listen.

"Mr. Bates," she said in exasperation, "you've spent so long thinking that someone is plotting against you that you're seeing it wherever you look."

"You can hardly blame me," he protested. With enemies like Craig and Durrant around, he'd been trained to look for the smallest deceptions in the most unlikely of places. Anna would only plot for good, he was certain of that, but it didn't make him any less curious about what she had in mind.

She played her cards close to her chest all day. Whenever she looked at him, she shot him secret smiles, but she wouldn't divulge what was on her mind no matter how much he pressed her. He tried to come up with satisfying theories himself, but one by one they were disproved—dinner out couldn't be on the cards because it would mean that she would have to approach too many people on too short a notice, and if she had any new lingerie, God help his soul, then he was sure that she wouldn't have been able to resist making him squirm all day in front of the other servants. He was simply out of ideas.

"You're very quiet," Lord Grantham commented while he helped him to dress for dinner. "Is there something wrong?"

"No, milord," he replied, taking up the brush and smoothing out the creases in his shoulders.

"Are you quite sure? You're wearing quite the frown."

"It's nothing. I'm just thinking of Anna."

Lord Grantham's eyes twinkled knowingly. "Ah. Say no more than that. We men are always confounded when it comes to our women."

With so many women around him, John wasn't surprised that Lord Grantham found the fairer sex confounding. He was outfoxed by them on a daily basis.

They spent the rest of the time in companiable silence, which suited John fine. It gave him time to go back to his impossible broodings. When he had seen Lord Grantham on his way down to dinner, he straightened the room back up and slowly made his way back downstairs.

His feet had just touched the bottom of the stairs when a hand came out of nowhere and grasped his arm. Startled, he turned to his left to find Anna's face beaming with mischief.

"You took me by surprise," he said.

"I've been waiting for you," she said in a lilting voice. "I kept peeping around the corner. I almost jumped out on Mr. Carson once."

John snorted. "That wouldn't have ended well. Anyway, what are you doing, sneaking around like this?"

She glanced around, making sure that there was no one else around to eavesdrop; John did the same. It wouldn't do to have Thomas skulking around, gathering information on their private conversations.

"I have got something planned," she confessed, standing on her tiptoes so she could whisper in his ear. He shivered, but worked hard to keep his expression impassive.

"You surprise me," he intoned. "Does this mean you're finally ready to share?"

She shook her head. "Not quite yet. Later, when we get home. I hope that you like it."

John looked at her, her eyes shining with eagerness, and felt his heart contract in his chest. He reached out and touched her hand. "If you've planned it, I know that I'll love it."

He could read the gratitude in her gaze, and she squeezed his hand tight before slipping past him and making her way to the servants' hall. He followed her at a more leisurely place and took his place beside her at the table. The way she slipped her hand into his beneath the line of it made him feel invincible.

Time seemed to trickle by at an inordinate pace, but at last it was time to return to the cottage. Despite himself, John had felt his excitement mounting as the evening progressed. It was silly, really. He wasn't a lad anymore. And yet Anna brought out a youthfulness in him that he'd thought had been long lost.

He waited impatiently by the back door for Anna to make her appearance. She smiled at him as she slipped around the corner and made her way to his side.

"Ready?" she said.

He nodded, holding out her coat for her. She shrugged into it and reached out for his hand.

"Let's go, then," she said.

The walk home was made largely in silence. John felt the excitement mounting to a fever pitch, a palpable anticipation that charged the atmosphere between them.

As they reached their front door, however, Anna stopped, turning to halt him too with a hand against his chest. He frowned.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing's wrong. Just…will you wait here for me?"

"What?"

"I'm going to go inside," she explained. "I want you to wait here. Will you do that for me? Please?"

Now John was more mystified than ever. He had been so sure that whatever Anna had been planning was inside the cottage.

Or maybe it still was. Maybe she wanted to get it ready for him without him being there to see it and spoil the surprise.

Maybe it really was some very attractive new lingerie for him to discover at leisure later on.

He swallowed hard.

"All right," he said, his voice not quite steady. "I'll wait here for you."

She beamed at him, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "Thank you. I won't be long."

With that, she darted into the cottage and slammed the door in his face. Shaking his head, he still couldn't help smiling to himself. Anna was such a force to be reckoned with. How had he ever fallen so bloody lucky?

Less than five minutes later, the front door opened again. John turned, expecting to see a coy smirk, a daring flash of French lace. Instead, he was greeted by an out of breath Anna, a huge black bundle in her arms. Whatever he had been fantasising about, this didn't even come close.

He eyed the bundle cautiously. "Um…what's that?"

"You'll see," she said. "Now come on."

"We're not going back inside?"

"No. There's something I want to show you. Follow me." She brushed past him, and he had to hurry to keep pace with her, utterly bemused.

They fumbled their way down the country lane, John praying that he didn't get his cane caught on any hidden potholes and send himself flying into the ground. Luck was on his side. They navigated their way easily enough, and eventually came to the bottom of a gentle slope. Anna slowed her pace for a moment. He could just make out the glint of her eyes by the light of the moon.

"It's just at the top here," she said. "Will you be all right with that?"

He nodded, ghosting his hand across her back. "As long as you're there, I'd be all right anywhere in the world."

"I have no intention of ever being anywhere other than by your side," she said simply. "Let's go."

They clambered up the small hill together, and reached the peak. John didn't really know what to expect when they got there, but Anna began flitting round like a little hummingbird, flapping out the blanket she was holding in her arms and smoothing it along the ground. Once she'd done that she flopped down on it, stretching out on her back. She turned to look at him, patting the space beside her.

"Come here," she said.

He eyed it doubtfully for a moment—once he got down, he'd struggle to get back up—but threw caution to the wind. Letting his cane topple to the ground, he edged his way down beside her, until he too was lying on the blanket, staring straight up at the heavens. He thought he understood it now, and his heart swelled anew with love for the woman beside him. How could she be so unfailingly thoughtful?

As if sensing his thoughts, she drew closer to him, wrapping her left arm through his right.

"Is this all right?" she whispered, sounding suddenly shy now that they were here. "I didn't want to be presumptuous, and I didn't want to evoke any bad memories, but…"

"Your worries couldn't be further from the truth," he said, a little ashamed of the way his voice wavered. "This is wonderful, Anna. Truly."

"I'm glad you think so," she said softly. "I just couldn't stop thinking about what you said the other week, about you having not seen the stars properly in so long. I wanted to do something special for you."

"Every day with you is special," he said. "You never have to make an effort to make them more so. You've already given me so much. I owe my life to you."

"Enough of that now," she said, though her cheeks had gone a pleased pink. "Let's just enjoy this moment for what it is. We used to look up at the stars so often, before all of this happened."

"I fell in love at you while we were mapping out the stars," he said.

"And the first time you took my hand in yours was to point out the constellation you were trying to show me. I thought I was going to implode there and then. I could hardly breathe, and my heart was beating so fast I thought you'd hear it."

"I probably wouldn't have heard it over my own," he confessed. "I knew I had no right to touch you, but I thought if I could do it under such pretexts…I thought it might disabuse me of the foolish notion that I was starting to feel something for you. I thought it would make me realise that I was making a fuss over nothing. I thought it would settle me once and for all."

"But it didn't?"

"It didn't." He would never forget those early days. Those faltering first steps into friendship. The way their relationship had blossomed like a moon flower in the dead of night, under the watchful eyes of the stars. And every moment he'd spent with her had frightened him. Because of the stirrings in his souls. Stirrings that at first he had tried to ignore, but hadn't been able to silence forever. Stirrings that he was sure he'd be able to put to bed if he could touch her and see that it didn't affect him in the slightest.

He'd been proven so, so wrong when he had curved his large hand around her small one and felt her trembling beneath him.

He'd been lost from that moment. Unable to deny the feelings in his heart to himself any longer. He'd promised himself that she would never know the truth of it. It was the only way to stop the simmering panic that boiled just beneath his surface.

But it hadn't worked, and he'd been a weak, weak man, returning to her time and time again even as he'd known that to do so was folly, that it would only hurt both of them in the end.

"I should have brought the book with me," said Anna, her voice all silk, caressing him all over with the forbidden memory of the past. A book he'd had no right to buy her, when things had already got too dangerous. When she had already confessed her love for him. He should have put a stop to it, but the temptation to be close to her had been impossible to resist. It was a dangerous game to play, to give her hope when there was none to have, but he'd been selfish. As much as he had wanted her to move on and lead a happy life with someone else, he hadn't been able to bear the thought of watching her grow close to another man. And so he had kept her close against his better judgement, had bought her a present when he had had no right to, and had reaped the spoils of it all, sitting so close to her at the servants' hall table, breathing in the flowery scent of her hair as they'd pored over the constellations together.

"Stargazing with you was the only thing I was living for back then."

She sat up on his chest, palming his cheek. "And I gathered my courage to kiss you under those same stars."

He would never forget. The warm August air at odds with the glacial fear in his bones at the outbreak of war, and her unwavering presence by his side as she listened to his outpourings about his own memories of war for the very first time.

Her lips on him had been earthshattering and soul-healing all at once. He had been unable to resist.

And thanked God for it every day now.

"I want us to recreate those memories now," she continued. "And make some new ones, in a spot that's completely our own. What do you say?"

"I say it's a wonderful idea," he whispered.

"It's a good job that it's stayed clear, really. I was worrying all day that it might be cloudy tonight and my plans would have to have been postponed. Look at them, John. They're gorgeous. It's like they're shining just for us. I've never seen anything so beautiful in my whole life."

John let his gaze flicker all across Anna's pale face, aglow in the same starlight she admired. Nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to her.

Anna had never seen anything as beautiful as the stars above them. That was understandable. But the same could never be true for him. Because he could see Anna with his own eyes.

Paying no attention to the skies, John pulled her closer to his side and murmured in her ear, "Neither have I."


End file.
